With a sharp war cry from the silver-haired girl, every human in the warband surged into motion.
From absolute stillness to full sprint in the blink of an eye, not a single one wasted their breath on shouting. Only the sound of heavy breathing echoed across the battlefield.
They were saving their strength.
Every drop of stamina spared now meant one more chance to kill later.
Spear in hand, the silver-haired girl charged ahead of the group. Behind her, the synchronized thuds of booted feet pounded the sand. She didn't have to look back to know they followed - silent, loyal, and burning with the same grim resolve.
Over a hundred human warriors, eyes bloodshot and lips cracked from the desert wind, charged like a pack of starving wolves into the dwarven frontlines.
The clash resounded across the battlefield, but the only screams to pierce the air were those of the gray dwarves.
A surge of brown light erupted from her body. With a flash, she vanished from her position and reappeared deep within the enemy lines.
Three dwarves didn't even get the chance to raise their shields before being sent flying, their bones crunching mid-air.
Now at the heart of their ranks, the silver-haired girl swept her silver spear with deadly precision.
Blood sprayed across the sand.
One dwarf, closest to her, was skewered through the chest. With that single strike, a gap split open in the dwarven formation. Several of the soldiers around her froze in place, wide-eyed with terror.
But just as she prepared to press forward, a sharp whistling sound cut through the wind.
She instinctively pivoted and stepped back, spear flashing toward the incoming danger.
A heavy, metallic crash rang out as she deflected a chained flail. The spiked head of the weapon flew off course and was yanked back through the air.
It landed in the thick palm of a gray dwarf far larger than the rest, his braided beard streaked with silver and muscles like tree trunks beneath his armor.
Unlike the others, he wore a full suit of enchanted plate mail.
"Yaral Okardzis," he growled, voice gravelly. "Bearer of the Hero's bloodline. Our Supreme Commander has taken quite the interest in you."
"If you surrender now, lay down your weapon, I'll spare those miserable wretches behind you," he continued, gesturing at the humans still locked in brutal melee. "You have my word, as a warrior of the gray dwarves."
Yaral's grip on her spear tightened. The title they gave her - the next Hero - wasn't some flattery. She was the only one standing between annihilation and survival.
But she didn't flinch. Her bloodshot eyes narrowed.
She'd been fighting these monsters since she was ten. She knew what kind of 'honor' they had.
And she knew one more thing.
Behind her, the humans were locked in desperate, uneven battle.
A gray dwarf's hammer came crashing down on one warrior, shattering his shoulder. The limb hung limp, useless.
But the man didn't cry out.
Instead, teeth bared in a mad grin, he lunged forward.
The dwarf smashed his chest with a second swing, ribs caving in with a sickening crunch.
The man only screamed then, a mouthful of blood bursting free, before hurling himself into the dwarf and biting down.
The dwarf's shriek tore through the battle, echoing across the sands.
Similar scenes played out across the battlefield. It was raw, savage, and suicidal, but the humans didn't care. They fought like beasts backed into a corner.
Still, numbers were numbers. And the dwarves had five times as many soldiers.
Yaral's eyes stayed locked on the dwarf commander. Her breath trembled, but her stance didn't waver.
She could hear her people's screams behind her. Muffled, forced back, as if afraid to distract her.
She lunged forward, spear flashing.
The blow struck like a bolt from the sky.
But the dwarf was ready.
He met the blow with his warhammer, both weapons colliding midair with a deafening boom. The shockwave sent nearby soldiers from both sides flying.
Yaral felt the jolt travel through her arms, numbing her fingers. The brute was stronger than she'd thought.
She stepped back, dug her heel into the sand, and drew her weapon close.
With a shout, she repositioned her grip and launched a flurry of thrusts. Her spear became a silver blur, stabbing with pinpoint accuracy at the dwarf's armor.
The dwarf barked in alarm, raising his chained weapon to deflect.
Sparks flew, and the sheer number of strikes began to overwhelm him.
A strike landed true, slamming into his chestplate.
But instead of piercing, the blade bounced off with a flash of dull blue light.
"Rune Armor?" Yaral's expression darkened.
"Ha! Surprised?" The dwarf chuckled. "Our Supreme Commander gifted this to me. Specially made. Just for you."
She was forced back. Around her, dwarves began to close in, encircling her.
No more escape routes.
Her plan had been simple - kill the commander, throw the dwarves into disarray, and lead her people to safety. But with rune-enchanted armor in play, she'd miscalculated.
They'd prepared for her.
Still, she wasn't going to beg. If she had to die here, she'd take as many of them with her as she could.
A piercing cry split the skies.
A massive shadow swept over the battlefield. Wind howled as a giant black hawk dove from above, its wings whipping up a storm of dust and chaos.
Before anyone could react, it slammed into the dwarven ranks.
Soldiers were tossed aside like rag dolls.
With a shriek, the hawk grabbed two dwarves in its talons, soared into the sky, then hurled them back down. Bones cracked. Blood splattered.
"Where in the blazes did that thing come from?!" the dwarf commander roared.
He'd never seen anything like it, not in all his campaigns through Valley of Despair.
But it wasn't just the hawk.
Now, from the fringes of the battlefield, more screams erupted. The kind that made hardened dwarves drop their weapons in fear.
"Another attack?! What is going on?!"
The commander whipped around toward the commotion.
Even Yaral blinked in confusion. Her people had no reserves left. This… wasn't them.
The battlefield grew quieter. Screams turned into horrified wails.
Then, like a curtain being drawn, the fog of war parted.
Blood geysered into the air.
Dwarf bodies - mangled, torn, missing limbs, flew like scraps in the wind. Organs hit the ground with wet thuds.
Tall. Clad in full armor the color of ash, like the remnants of a burned forest. A greatsword rested on his shoulder, thick and brutal, every swing cleaving through dwarves like paper dolls.
The dwarves never stood a chance.